


Carnation

by melfics (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/melfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian has never had a Valentine. Based on an anonymous prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnation

**Author's Note:**

> I really really love writing Mickey's thought process and establishing his personal progress, which is why there's more of that than actual Gallavich but *shrugs*. I hope you like it anyway.

“I always wanted a Valentine,” Ian says thoughtfully, staring up at the cafeteria walls absolutely littered with pink signs shaped like hearts that make Mickey cringe. “In elementary school, I used to wish that a pretty girl would, I don’t know, hand me a Rugrats valentine and ask me to be hers. It wasn’t until I started to realize what it meant that I wanted the same thing but from a boy instead. You ever wish that, Mick?”

Mickey gazes at Ian’s face lazily, head in his hands, before sitting himself up a little straighter and digging into his pudding cup. “No,” he says gruffly, twirling his spoon.

“I mean, it’s silly now, but… I don’t know, being 16, I might want one for real. Wake up and smell the PDA, Mickey,” he sighs, gesturing to several couples devouring faces instead of the stale pizza that was being served.

“God, fucking romantics,” Mickey rolls his eyes and suppresses a groan. He’s never understood what the big deal about Valentine’s Day is, anyway. So people are in love; so what? Aren’t they in love 365 days a year? Besides, love isn’t for Mickey. It just isn’t. He loves his sister, but he’s never loved anyone else. Not even himself. He would rather not daydream about unrealistic romantic expectations when he could be reading a good book or spending time at the gym. Not that anybody knows he likes to read. Only Ian.

He might indulge in the holiday and buy himself a bar of chocolate, but by the evening he’s on the couch, stuffing his face and binging horror movies.

“You’re so bitter,” Ian scoffs, and playfully takes Mickey’s hand. Playfully.

The look Mickey gives him is of wide eyes and terror. “What the fuck, Gallagher?” He asks in a pitched, but still menacing, voice.

“Can’t we just pretend?” Ian pleads, still playing.

“Fucking no!” Mickey cries, and stands abruptly. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s not even angry with Ian, but he’s angry with himself. For liking Ian. As a friend. Or as more than that. Maybe. He doesn’t know. But he’s angry with himself.

“No, we fucking can’t,” he tries not to whisper, and carries his styrofoam plate to the trash can, where he dumps it forcefully. Then he retreats to the bathroom to collect himself.

 

One breath, he thinks. Two. Two breaths. Three. Three breaths. Breathe. Breathe, Mickey, breathe.

_Fucking no!_

He punches the glass. The mirror cracks. No. Fucking no.

Breathe, Mickey, breathe. Start over. One breath.

His eyes brim with tears, but because of the pain. He thinks a tiny shard of glass is caught in the skin of his knuckle, but he doesn’t bother with it now. Instead he punches the wall.

One. One punch. Two. Two punch. Three. Three punch-

“Mickey,” Ian gasps, and catches his wrist in his warm hands. They shouldn’t be that warm.

“No, Gallagher. I need a minute, just. Just go.”

Ian waits.

“Just go.”

“I’ll go when you’ve calmed down.”

“Why,” Mickey says; a question disguised as a statement.

“Because I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Why,” he breathes again, more lowly this time.

Ian hesitates. He lets his wrist go. “Just because,” he shrugs. “Because I love you. And-” he adds defensively- “Don’t freak out. But it’s Valentine’s Day, and I don’t say it enough. I love you. As a friend. You’re my best friend, Mick. I love you as a friend, if that’s all you’re willing to hear.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything, just stares at his shoes. At his bruised knuckles. Feels his heart beating uncomfortably in his chest. This isn’t a good feeling. Or maybe it is. Either way, he doesn’t like it.

“I know you don’t like Valentine’s Day, I just-”

“Just go.”

And he does.

 

He bites nervously at his thumb as the lines get shorter. He’s two people away. One.

“Can I just, uh,” he stammers. “Can I just get one.”

 

Mickey sits himself silently between Ian and his backpack, aware that the bell is about to ring. One hand slings underneath the strap and the other finds Ian’s, lacing their fingers together briefly as he transfers the flower from his hand to Ian’s. What is it again? A carnation?

“Don’t,” he starts, closing his eyes. “Don’t say anything. It’s just to… you know, it’s just for everything that I can’t say to you right now but I know you know. It’s for today.” He opens his eyes.

Ian’s eyes meet his in understanding, a smile skimming his lips. He knows. And it’s okay.

“If you, uh,” he tries, eyes in his lap. “If you come by later tonight, I might say it. Part of it.” He might.

 

With Ian’s head in his lap, on his bed, and his hands tracing his arm lazily, he finds the courage to say all that he can manage to say for today. Just for today.

“Will you,” he whispers. Ian grins. “Will you be mine?”

Ian nods and gazes up at him, not expecting even kisses. They’ve never kissed, they’ve only touched, lazily like this. He doesn’t expect too much. Which is why he’s satisfied with the only words Mickey has to offer.

"Fucking finally," Ian laughs. Mickey does too.

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo comment below


End file.
